


The Best Music

by silverneko9lives0



Series: Sanzeuh Kumathelh [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Battle of Azanulbizar, Brother-Sister Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Azanulbizar, Sad and Happy, Sibling Bonding, The Princess Who Never Smiled AU, overcoming abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-29 22:19:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3912697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of "The Princess Who Never Smiled" </p><p>After Smaug, none of Thror’s grandchildren were as happy as before. Thorin was often busy, forced to grow up before his time, same as Frerin. But watching their little princess lose what gave the whole family life was the hardest thing for both Thror and Thrain to go through. And, likely, it had to say something about Thror’s state of mind on a whole knew level when he declared that only someone who could, at the minimum, make Dis smile again would be worthy of marrying the princess of Durin’s Folk. Dis/Canonical Husband</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

~TA 2799~

~Dwarven Encampment, Azanulbizar~

The standstill had been going on for days now as they waited for reinforcements. What the Orcs were doing, they didn’t know.

They didn’t care.

Thorin handed Frerin a bowl of stew, which his brother took with a thank you through chattering teeth. Thorin didn’t respond, just sitting down between his brother and Dwalin with his own bowl of stew. To call it stew would be polite. There was hardly anything in it save a bit of cram to replace potatoes with. Not that they cared. They’d eat it. Cram might not be great, but it was easy to make and it was filling.

“When will grandfather give up?” Frerin asked. “Have you any idea?”

Thorin scoffed. “He isn’t going to give up,” he said. “You know that.”

“One can dream.”

“Aye, but dreaming won’t do you much good here,” Dwalin said, setting his bowl down. He glanced up. “Though this is not something I ever thought I’d see and do not _want_ to see.” Thorin and Frerin followed his gaze and Thorin jumped up.

“Where are you going?”

“To talk sense into that old _rukhsul_!”

“Thorin!”

He stormed into the tent and strode toward Thror. Two guards seized his arms, restraining him.

“What in all of creation are you doing?!” Thorin shouted. “You brought _more_ _children_ into battle!”

“They are not much younger than you are,” Thror said. “And we need the bodies. No one else is coming to our aid, Thorin. I saw no other choice.”

“There’s _always_ another choice!” Thorin shoved the guards off. “You’re just too greedy to see it.”

Thror glared at him and sent the guards away. “This has _nothing_ to do with the mithril mines,” he said. “If we reclaim Moria, we can relocate. Have a new home.”

“Bull shit! You don’t care about our people! You never cared!”

Thror sighed and shook his head. “Thorin, I know it’s been a long war, but it’ll work out in the long run.” Thorin scoffed and turned to leave, almost bumping into Thrain.

“What’s going on in here?”

“Nothing,” Thorin said. “Not that either of you really care about what’s best for our people.” He pushed past them out of the tent and almost barreled into one of the new soldiers. He couldn’t have been much younger than Frerin with blond hair and brown eyes.

“Sorry, my lord,” he said.

“Not a lord,” Thorin said, pulling him up. “Just another soldier as far as Thror is concerned. Are you all right. That’s a lot of metal you’re wearing.”

The boy had four swords. Two on each hip and two more strapped to his back. He grinned. “I’ve got plenty of knives too.”

“Know how to use them.”

“My uncle’s a blacksmith. My other uncle’s a guard.”

“What about your da?”

“He died in a mining accident before I was born. My uncles and Amad raised me.”

“And where are they now to let you fight?”

“My uncles are here, but Amad passed away two years ago.” The boy held his hand out. “Víli, son of Vír.”

Thorin took his hand and squeezed. “Thorin, son of Thrain. But you already knew that.”

“Yes, I did. You’re nicer than I thought, though. The others say you’re closed off or something.”

Thorin snorted. “I just look it, come on.” He led Víli to the fire he, Frerin, and Dwalin had made. Frerin and Dwalin glanced at Víli. Dwalin snorted and went back to eating what he could while Frerin watched them curiously. “This is Víli. One of our new comrades at arms.”

“Your grandfather’s getting desperate.”

“My grandfather doesn’t see this as a fool investment. Keeps spouting about how this is for the people and what not. We know what he’s really after.”

“What if it is?” Víli asked. “Maybe he’s telling the truth.”

“Not likely,” Frerin said. “The last few years, even before the dragon, our grandfather’s only cared about getting richer. He used to be better, but after that…”

“Well, fact is, it doesn’t matter how good you were before. Once you turn around, that’s how you’ll be remembered,” Thorin muttered darkly.

Víli hummed. “Have you thought of whether or not your grandfather could have helped getting sick?” he asked. Thorin and Frerin turned to him. “Only, I heard it was Dragon Sickness that got to him.”

“It was,” Dwalin said. “So it’s true that he couldn’t help it. The nobles took advantage of it and Thror fell deeper into the madness. If not for Thrain, it could have been much worse before the dragon came.” Víli nodded. “It’s not been better, but getting out of the mountain had helped the king see more clearly. The lack of gold helps, but he is still very old and you know how the old are sometimes.”

“Right.”

“Weirdest thing he’s done, though, since we left, is issue some whack-job decree about who can marry the princess.” Frerin snorted and Thorin groaned.

“What decree is that?” Víli asked.

“Our sister’s always sad,” Thorin said. “She doesn’t really find enjoyment in much. Just weaves and makes better and better tapestries. Our grandfather said that when she is of age, she will marry the Dwarf who manages to make her smile again.”

“Couldn’t you change it?”

Thorin leaned forward. “I wish.”

“What? You think it’d be better for Dis to marry someone who doesn’t make her happy?” Dwalin asked.

“One smile does not mean that she’d be happy for the rest of her life.”

“Fair point.”

“But wouldn’t it be a start?” Víli asked.

Thorin nodded. “It would be.” A runner raced past, screaming that the Orcs had regrouped and were on the move. The four of them stood.

“I’m tired of fighting,” Frerin muttered. Thorin ruffled his hair.

“Same here, _Nadadith_ ,” he said.

~TA 2825, Dunland~

Dis set the plates down in front of her and Thorin before sitting down herself.

“Thanks,” he said, tearing the bread apart.

Dis had barely scooped up a bit of her soup when there was a knock at the door. They exchanged glances and Thorin stood, seizing a knife before approaching the door.

“Who’s there?”

“May I come in?” the stranger asked.

“No.”

“But is not today the day of Lady Dis’ birth? Is she not of age today?”

Thorin pressed his forehead to the door.

Of course. That _damned_ decree Thror sent out before his death. He couldn’t get rid of it, but he did manage to alter it a little bit.

Rather than marry Dis, whoever managed to make her laugh may _court_ her instead. It was the best he could do to make sure that whoever married her ended up being a Dwarf Thorin could trust his sister to. He glanced at Dis.

“Five minutes,” she said.

Thorin sighed. “Fine,” he said, opening the door. “You have five minutes.”

The Dwarf bowed to him and Dis before entering. He pulled a rose out of his sleeve and handed it to Dis.

A damned flower?

The look on Dis’ face matched that of Thorin’s.

The suitor weaved poetry about how the rose reminded him of her beauty and what not. It was sweet, but the compliments didn’t really work. After the five minutes, Thorin sent the suitor away.

“Eat before your dinner gets cold,” Dis said, setting the rose down. “He was nice, if nothing else.”

“They’ll try everything to get you to smile,” he muttered.

Dis shrugged. “If they make me smile, perhaps they are worthy.”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘worthy,’” Thorin said.

“And you are too suspicious.”

“You’re going to get tired of this sooner or later.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Dis said, dipping her bread into the broth. “But that’s why you’re here, aren’t you? To make sure they don’t stay too long so I don’t get too bored?”

“I can’t do that all the time!”

“I know. I’m rarely alone. It’s not like I have all day to sit about and be lazy. They’ll come at night.”

“Maybe I should just set a bloody time when they _can_ come and give a shot. Twelve Dwarves, one hour…sounds like a plan. Doesn’t interfere with your work or mine, I can monitor everything…or Dwalin can if need be.”

“Whatever works for you, _Nadad_ ,” Dis said.

Thorin smiled. “Hey, I want you to be happy, even if you don’t ever smile again.”

Dis shrugged. “You’re food’ll get cold if you keep talking,” she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pissy teenage Thorin. Yep. He grows out of it. We know that he grows out of it. But still.


	2. Chapter 2

Víli sat on the edge of a fountain, running his hand through his hair as he pondered what he’d tell his uncles. Mír and Cír were getting less and less forgiving of his inability to hold a job. It wasn’t Víli’s fault that his warrior’s sickness refused to ebb!

His uncles found him either cowardly or broken since Azanulbizar.

He stared at the coin in his hand and sighed. It wasn’t enough. At this rate, he wouldn’t be able to go home.

So why bother?

Víli pulled his knees to his chin and sighed. It would be best to find someplace secluded to sleep in or at before looking for another form of work.

“Don’t I know you?” A gruff voice said.

Víli looked at the Dwarf. He was broad, donned in the armor worn by mercenaries.

“You look familiar.”

“Perhaps we met,” Víli said, “If you fought at the Dimrill Dale.”

“Ah. Likely,” he said. “What are you doing out at this time of night?”

“No place to go,” Víli said. “Can’t even hold a proper job. Warrior’s Sickness. My uncles don’t really see that as an excuse.”

The Dwarf’s gaze darkened.

“It’s fine. I was going to find someplace relatively secure. Thank you for your concern, though.”

Víli stood to leave, but the Dwarf grabbed his shoulder. “Hold up. It’s not much, but my brother and I have another room you can stay in till you’re on your feet again.”

“That could be a while.”

“Untreated Warrior’s Sickness is nothing to scoff at. My best mate has it too. He’s a blacksmith. Might be able to give you some work if you’re amenable. Won’t fire you off the bat for a mistake, either,” he said. He held his other hand out. “Dwalin, son of Fundin, at your service.”

Víli stared at the hand before taking it. “Víli son of Vír at yours,” he replied. “And are you sure? I wouldn’t want to be a burden.”

Dwalin scoffed. “Course you wouldn’t. I’m offering. One _Azanulbizarûn_ to another.”

He wrapped is large arm around Víli’s neck and led him to a group of cottages. The closer they got, the more Víli started to feel something building in his chest. His heart beat faster and breathing became harder. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

More…

He had to go.

He had to find them…

It felt as though he was tethered and one end of it was pulling at him. And it got stronger the closer they approached Dwalin’s house. It was two doors down from the blacksmith.

Once inside, he thought the feeling would disappear.

It didn’t.

Sitting at the table was another Dwarf. His hair was long and grey. He was shorter than Dwalin, but they had the same eyes and nose.

“About time you got home,” he snapped at Dwalin, arching a brow. “And who is this?” Víli introduced himself and bowed.

“He’s having a rough go of it. Thought he could meet with Thorin tomorrow, possibly help out at the forge. He is still complaining about the back up in production, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Balin said. “You’re lucky Dis made extra for you then. You can split dinner with him.”

Dwalin shrugged and grabbed a second plate for Víli. He thanked the brothers again for their hospitality and wondered why they decided to trust him.

It wasn’t the bed, or the heat, or lack of it, or really anything save the need to answer the call under his skin. It wasn’t hard resisting, but the call, or whatever it was, felt quite insistent that he respond…

#

Many thought there was something wrong with Dis. Many thought her inability to find enjoyment was a curse. To be fair, she didn’t know what it was about her that couldn’t find joy.

She just…couldn’t see any point to it. She set breakfast down on the table and Thorin smiled at her in greeting. She pretended she didn’t see the hurt in his eyes when all she did was nod and tell him to eat.

“Have you any plans yourself for the day?”

“Just to finish this tapestry,” she said, motioning to the nearly completed work at her loom. “I’ll stop by the forge for lunch.”

“All right,” Thorin said, kissing her forehead. “I love you, _nan’ith_.”

“Love you, too,” Dis said distractedly before taking a bite.

She didn’t tell him about her other plan for the day. The one where she wanted to investigate where this feeling she had would lead her. She’d been feeling it since last night. A feeling she couldn’t quite describe other than safety.

After breakfast, Thorin kissed her cheek and promised to see her later. Once he was gone, Dis finished her chores before brushing her hair and donning a cloak.

She opened the door, startling Dwalin. His fist was still raised to knock the now open door.

“Thorin’s at the forge by now,” she said.

“I know, he’s talking to a possible new helper. I was thinking if you had more rooms, it’d be easier for him and Thorin to work together.”

“Did Thorin agree to this?”

“Not yet.”

“Then he isn’t staying here until Thorin has a definite answer.”

Dwalin winced. “Have a heart, Dis!”

“I’d rather be practical.”

“You and Balin are cruel.”

Dis shrugged. She liked Balin. They got along well enough. “If Thorin says yes, then I have no problems with this Dwarf staying—it _is_ a Dwarf, right? Not a Man?”

“What am I? Daft? Of course he’s a Dwarf.”

Dis stepped outside and locked the door behind her.

“And where are you going?”

“I’ve been feeling something I can’t quite explain,” she said. “It’s like a song, calling to me, and I’m going to answer it.”

“Thorin—”

“He isn’t expecting me till lunch,” she said.

“I don’t like this.”

“Dwalin, if it bothers you so much that I’m going off on my own, then come with me.” She might not be able to smile, but she knew that she could convey amusement in her own way. It’s in the way her eyes shone or in the tone of her voice.

Dwalin crossed his arms and huffed. “Fine. Lead the way, _uzbadnâtha_.”

“Don’t call me _uzbadnâtha_ ,” Dis sniffed.

“It’s what you are!” Dis shrugged and followed the feeling.

Into the forge.

Thorin furrowed his brow. “I know it’s not even _close_ to noon, Dis,” he said. Dis paid him no mind, staring at the blond Dwarf sitting on the anvil. “Are you going somewhere?”

“Maybe,” she answered, tearing her eyes away from the Dwarf to meet Thorin’s gaze. Her brother arched a brow.

“Thinking of making stew for dinner.”

“Beef?”

“Rabbit.”

“No carrots,” Thorin said, smirking.

Dis rolled her eyes. His sense of humor was never great no matter how funny he thought he was. Dwalin groaned behind her and she guessed he was trying not to laugh.

The Dwarf stood and approached her. He bowed. “Víli, son of Vír, at your service, my lady,” he said.

Dis chuckled, the corners of her lips tugged upward. “Dis daughter of Thrain at yours, Master Víli.”

“Did she just…”

“She did.” Dis wasn’t sure how she liked Thorin’s tone.

“Thorin…”

“I know.”

She’d almost forgotten about that.

A part of her wondered if Víli knew. Way he didn’t look shocked or ecstatic told her no. Which was strange. It’d been weeks since she came of age and she’d nearly seen a hundred Dwarves all trying to make her laugh.

A few actually made Thorin laugh, but as that was not the goal, they left unsuccessful. A few complained about the “unreasonable” time limit Thorin imposed. Dis actually liked it.

Still, they could put an end to it now. To add, she had a good feeling about this Dwarf.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Dis shook her head. “My grandfather had a rather…odd decree put in place after we lost our home to the dragon Smaug,” she said. “My brother is the king of Durin’s Folk.”

“Father might be alive, Dis.”

Dis sent him an incredulous look before turning back to Víli.

“He got it in his head to decree that the Dwarf who could make me smile will have the ring to marry me. Thorin couldn’t abolish it, but he made a slight change. Instead of marry, the Dwarf who succeeded would have the right to court me.”

Víli gaped at her, looking from Dwalin to Thorin and back to Dis. “Me? Court the princess? I don’t think I’m quite…I mean I heard of that. The decree, but I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated to hold it up if you don’t want to. I mean it’s your decision, my lady. I—”

Dis was on the verge of laughing again, grinning at him.

“Think of it this way,” Thorin said. “You work here with me, court my sister, Dwalin, Balin, and I will see if you’re a good match for each other, and if so, in a year or two, you may marry her.”

“But what do you think?” he asked, still flustered.

“Víli, that decree doesn’t benefit anyone but you and my sister. The others who came had a five minute chance to try. You managed to make her smile in less than one minute. According to the decree, you’re worthy. That was the easy part. Now you have to prove yourself not just to my sister but to me.”

“I understand, Sir.”

“She’s the only family I have left,” Thorin said, eyes flashing dangerously. “I trust you know what that means if, at any point I decide you are not worthy.”

Víli nodded, paling. “I understand, completely, Sir,” he said.

Dis didn’t think there would be any problems. Way she felt, way Víli looked at her, made her want to smile regardless of the moment, she believed he was her Sanzeuh.

But it might be best not to tell Thorin that.

* * *

 

~Khuzdul~

Azanulbizarûn=Azanulbizar-man (a veteran of Azanulbizar)

Nan’ith=sister

Uzbadnâtha=princess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the story this one is based on can be found here: http://www.aanet.org/tula/princeneversmiled.html 
> 
> But this story will likely go through what happens AFTER the events of the story. It's cute (and I mean REALLY cute!!!), but I feel like I want to find out what happens after the events in the fairy tale.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: psychological abuse at end

News traveled fast about Víli and Dis. There was some dissent among the upper classes and very few shrugged their shoulders with an, _oh well,_ on their lips.

Thorin and Dwalin watched Víli closely, as though waiting for something—anything—to happen that would give them reason to chase him out and bar him from Dis.

So far, Thorin liked him.

Víli was a hard worker, fun to be around, and there was their shared ailment.

Rare was the day they were triggered since their meeting and perhaps that had more to do with Dis’ experience in dealing with Thorin’s Warrior Sickness. She admitted that navigating Víli’s was, in some ways, harder, but she was getting used to it.

Once Thorin caught them on the couch after Víli had been triggered. His head lay in her lap as she sang to him and played with his hair.

Thorin would never admit it, but it was endearing.

“You’re the boy, weren’t you?” he asked one day.

Víli blinked and looked at him. “What?”

“At Azanulbizar, before the final battle, my grandfather had procured more recruits. Dwarflings barely in their tween years. I went to yell at him and after I had said some things I now regret I bumped into one of them. A lad barely older than my brother, carrying four swords. I had thought he was from a warrior clan until he told me he was a miner’s son and that he’d come to join his uncles.”

Víli set down his hammer and turned to him. “Yes, that was me.”

“I was afraid you had died.”

“Well, sometimes I had wondered if it was better if I did.”

“Now?”

Víli grinned. “I don’t think that anymore.”

Thorin squeezed his shoulder. “You’re welcome to stay here.”

“Say this courtship doesn’t go as planned…”

“Well I won’t fire you, if that’s what you’re worried about, but you’ll have to find different lodgings.”

Víli nodded. “You’re kinder than I expected.”

“More I pity you. My sister is evil.”

“Not to me.”

Thorin snorted. “I know,” he said. “It makes me worry.”

#

“Why do I need to learn this?” Víli asked Balin, staring at the books piled on the table.

“You’re to marry the princess, if your courtship goes well,” he said. “Poor or not, there are things that will simply be expected of you. If all goes well, you’ll be a prince.” Víli paled. He knew Dis was a princess and that Thorin led the Dwarves of Erebor, but it had not sunk in what that would mean for him. His heart beat erratically and his breathing shallowed. “Lad?”

Víli gripped the chair, struggling to breathe. Balin helped him sit. “Easy there, Víli, you’ll be all right.”

“I’m not cut out for this.”

“Lad, you are the princess’ One. If anyone is cut out for it, it would be you.”

Víli looked at him. “How did you know?” he asked. “Dis and I never told anyone.”

“It’s the only logical explanation I can think of to how you managed to make her smile again with nothing save a polite hello. And more, she’s as mischievous as she used to be. You’re both rather mischievous, actually.”

Víli groaned, holding his head in his hands. “I still don’t think I can do this.”

“Charm will only get you so far.”

“I’m not charming.”

“Lady Dis would beg to disagree,” Balin said. “Charming is certainly one of the words she uses to describe you when the local matrons first started asking questions.” This didn’t really help his panic attack. Balin patted his shoulder. “Little by little, Lad. Little by little.”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

“Old enough,” Balin said, smirking. “It’s not as bad as you think it is. If you mess up somewhere, it’s forgivable. However, if it’s _Thorin_ , that’s another matter entirely.”

Víli looked at him. “That does sort of make me feel better.”

“Especially since there is no excuse for Thorin to make mistakes,” Balin said. “Or Dis, but that never stopped them. Etiquette is not as hard to grasp as you might think. Give it a couple shots and you’ll be good to go.”

“You’re certain of that?”

“Yes.”

“Etiquette?”

“Yep.”

“Sounds harrowing.”

“Not as much as you think. No one remembers which fork is proper since no one uses them unless they’re in the presence of Elves and they tend to be fussy enough that nobody cares if they’re offended.”

Víli nodded.

He had caught Thorin in one of his anti-Elf moments and wished he had the skill to draw it on paper. Simply to commemorate it.

It was quite entertaining.

“Feel better?”

“A little bit,” Víli said.

His breathing was easier, but his heart still beat a little too rapidly for his comfort. He glanced out the window to spot Dis carrying a basket of linen.

His mouth curved into a smile while Balin pulled out a book…

#

“You’d think that people would understand that you’re already spoken for,” Thorin growled after chasing off another suitor. “How it’s not sticking in people’s heads is beyond me.”

“Thank you, Brother,” Dis said, smirking at him.

Thorin grunted and sat down to finish his dinner.

“I owe you.”

“Yes, you do. I want cake.”

Dis smacked the back of his head.

“What? It’s a reasonable request!”

“If we had the money to afford a cake, then it wouldn’t be a problem,” she said.

Víli came down the stairs, yawning. Dis kissed him good morning and Thorin mimed his disgust behind Dis back. Víli signed a rude gesture.

Such was the house of Durin these days.

Three more raps at the door and Thorin jumped up, growling. “We are _not_ accepting more suits for my sister’s hand!” he shouted, opening the door to two older Dwarrow.

Víli paled and clutched Dis’ hands tighter.

They bowed.

“You’re majesty, forgive the hour. We are not suitors,” the elder of the two said. “We are Víli’s uncles. Cir.”

“And Mir.”

“At your service,” they said with another bow.

Víli kissed Dis’ hand and approached. “Uncles?”

Whatever they were doing here for, he didn’t know. He wanted to trust them, but they’d not exactly been the most…positive influence in his life and the last few weeks of being free of them had done nothing but show him that he much preferred his new family.

He preferred Thorin and Dis. He preferred Dwalin and Balin. They treated him more like the family he needed more than the family he had.

“Why are you here?”

Cir and Mir looked at each other. “A word outside, Víli,” Cir said. He stuffed his fists in his pockets and stepped outside. He closed the door behind them.

“You’ve not been freeloading here, have you?”

“No. Thorin lets me work in the forge. Pays me, too.”

“And your portion of the rent—”

“I don’t live with you anymore,” he said. “And likely never will. So I don’t see why I would still need to pay rent when—”

“This is a temporary thing,” Mir said. “Once you and the princess wed, she will not be a part of the Durin family. You know that.”

Víli ground his teeth. “I do not believe that Thorin will accept that. And neither do I. I don’t want either of you near Dis. She spent more than enough of her life in silent misery, I refuse to let her undergo that again. If it is money you want, I’ll arrange something, but after this I don’t want either of you coming back here. Understand?”

“Don’t be unreasonable, Víli,” Cir said, gripping his shoulder and squeezing. Víli tried not to wince. “We’ll let you think about it and be back in three days for your half of the rent.”

Víli nodded and Cir let go. They left and Víli gripped his shoulder, rubbing it in hopes of ridding himself of the pain. The door opened and Dis stepped out.

“What happened?” she whispered. “You’re terrified.”

“I’m fine.”

Dis narrowed her eyes and touched his shoulder. “They hurt you?”

“I’m fine, _mudtel_. Really.”

Dis met his gaze. “No. You’re not.”

“They’ve always been like that.”

“Víli, that’s not healthy. Nor is it good. I know I might not be one to talk, but the way they treated you just now…Víli I could feel it. Something was wrong.”

Víli smiled and kissed her forehead. “I promise it will be all right, Dis.” She did not smile and worry remained on her face. “I promise.”

“Know we’re here for you,” she said. “Thorin and me. Okay?” He nodded. “Dinner’s ready now if you’re hungry.”

“I am.”

“Víli.”

“Yes?”

“I love you, so please don’t lie to me. It’s okay if things are not fine.”

He blinked and embraced her. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll do my best.”

* * *

 ~Khuzdul~

Mudtel=heart of all hearts (sweetheart in this sense)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, about Cir and Mir. Yes, they are the bad guys. Yes, they're horrid. No, there were no bad guys in the original tale save unhappy circumstance which turned around and rewarded the main character, allowing him to become the prince. Again, this story is about what happens afterward. The main character had a good employer, we don't know about his family situation.
> 
> And since I'm a sucker for angst and since psychological/emotional abuse runs prevalent in my life, I figured I could use a win and see if I can write a character who overcomes it. Maybe give myself a few ideas on how to overcome the abuse I still suffer even though I've yet to escape it.


	4. Chapter 4

Thorin was more than willing to allow Víli to become part of the House of Durin when he and Dis explained the situation with his uncles. It was left unsaid, but Balin had guessed that the abuse Víli might have undergone played a part in Dis’ morose nature up to their meeting.

“Suggesting,” Balin continued, “that it’d been going on even when you were a child, before Azanulbizar.” Víli did not deny nor confirm it.

“I would hate to find that my pain was what brought Dis to never smile…”

“I wouldn’t like to think it either, but the other option we have open is that she mourned the loss of our home. Either way you see it, neither were her fault and neither were yours.”

He patted Víli’s shoulder. “You’re a smart lad, Víli, and kind. What happened to you is not of any fault but theirs and we will see it righted.”

“That isn’t—”

“It is necessary,” Thorin said. “If this had been going on since you were a child, then we will see it corrected. I can’t change the past, but at the very least, we can sever your ties to your uncles.”

“I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to him being kind to me,” Víli said when Thorin had left.

Balin chuckled. “He might not say it aloud, but he adores you as much as his sister. We worried what he’d do to the Dwarf who she fell for, but I can personally say that I’m pleasantly surprised. He likes you, lad, even if he doesn’t say it. In fact, he may see a little bit of Frerin in you.”

Víli didn’t respond. Or, rather, he couldn’t.

Balin ignored the lack of response and went back to their etiquette lesson.

#

Going back to the house where so much joy had been robbed of him filled Víli with trepidation. He took comfort in that he wasn’t alone. Dis squeezed his hand. She didn’t smile, but it was not from sorrow or indifference.

There was a fire in her eyes that blazed like never before. With a kiss pressed to his knuckles Dis assured him she’d be outside waiting for him with Thorin and Dwalin.

His uncles greeted him with false cheer, insisting he stay.

“No,” he said. “I won’t, but here,” he set down a bag filled with as much coin as he and the others could scrape. “This should last _three months_. Should you come back at all before then…well, I don’t know what will happen, but I don’t think my brother will look on it kindly.”

“Brother?” Mir asked, brow furrowed.

“Thorin Oakenshield agreed to defy tradition. Dis is not marrying into our family. I’m marrying into theirs,” he said. “That is all, uncles. Goodbye.”

“Víli!”

“I’ll see you in three months, though I hope one day I never have to,” he added, glaring at them.

They watched him leave, stunned to silence.

The door barely closed behind him when shouts and insults were hurled at Víli. He quickened his pace. Dis embraced him as Thorin’s hand curled around the hilt of his sword.

“I take it they didn’t take the news well,” Dwalin said.

“No,” Víli said. “It appears not.”

“No matter,” Dis said. She smiled. “You’re safe now. I can’t guarantee it, but I will do my best to ensure it, _amrâlimê_.”

Víli pressed his forehead to hers. “I know, _mudtel_.”

“Let’s go,” Thorin said. “Before they decide that words don’t cut enough.”

#

Days were good.

Days were bad.

The more Víli got to know his new family, the more fights they got into. Usually, they were between him and Thorin and ended up in wrestling matches on the floor. Dis usually broke them up with the final word. No one crossed Dis and expected to get away with it.

Despite that, Víli found that he had a bit of a calming hand on his One. Not to say there were not days Dis would side with her brother or fight with him too, but usually, he could hold her back from the worst of it and act as mediator.

Sometimes it was a harrowing job, but there was always reconciliation and—

“How is it you can be so willfully blind when the evidence is right in front of you?!” Dis shrieked. Víli winced and opened the door to see the unbridled fury on her face. “I know who he is!”

“I _like_ him, so I don’t see why it matters to you that I recognize him as your One. They _don’t_ exist, Dis. Sanzeuh are fairytales! You’re too old for this nonsense!”

“So what will you do when you find _your_ One? Huh? Are you going to deny everything you feel when you’re near them?”

He glowered at her. “If, and _if,_ I find someone I care for as much as you care for Víli, I at least won’t delude myself into think he’s my _One_.”

Víli closed the door and two stormy looks fixed on him. Thorin looked away and Dis strode over to Víli, embracing him. “I don’t think it matters if he accepts that we’re Sanzeuh,” he whispered. “It’s enough that we know.”

Dis huffed.

“Hey, think on this way: he could hate me.”

“True,” she sighed.

“Will you two stop being cute before I decide to make dinner myself.”

“Oi!” Víli snapped. “We agreed you were _not allowed in the kitchen!_ ”

“Then get your butt in here!”

#

Every three months, like clockwork, they would pay Cir and Mir a portion of the rent until a year had passed and Víli presented Dis with a bead to braid in her hair, symbolizing their intent to marry. After that, Thorin barred them from taking any of Víli’s hard earned pay.

In that time, Thorin and Víli were debating whether it’d be possible to move further west to Ered Luin.

“It would be nice to be in a mountain again.”

“Do you think Durgim will be willing to let us settle there?” Dis asked, setting food down in front of them. “Only I do not see him being merciful to us. Regardless the reason.”

“I will handle Durgim,” Thorin said.

Dis frowned. “He would see you beg. They all would like to see the King of Durin’s Folk kneel. Do you think your pride—”

Thorin shrugged. “It will be a blow, to be sure,” he said. “But I will do what I must.”

“At the cost of your damned pride? That I would like to see.”

#

As it was, Durgim was unwilling to see Thorin, but Thorin persisted. Every month, he sent a letter to Durgim requesting audience with him.

No answer came.

And at the end of the second year of their courtship, a simple wedding was held. It was not the grandeur befitting a Princess of Erebor, but Dis did not care about that, despite the insanity she put Thorin and Víli through as the wedding date loomed closer.

To Thorin, it was a relief to not be the only one that needed to deal with Dis’ moods.

To Víli, well, you can imagine how it felt to see the dam he’d call his wife donned in the finest gown she had, hair done up in her jeweled beads.

A princess, even of an impoverished, nomadic country, could still look like the royal she is.

Donned in a cream gown with a dark blue overtunic belted around her waist. Around her wrists were iron wrought vambraces and a silver necklace around her neck. She took Víli’s hand and he kissed her knuckles as Thorin began the ceremony.

“You cannot possess me,” Dis began braiding Víli’s hair. “For I belong to myself. But while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand.”

She looped the end of the braid through the bead and dropped her hands to her side while Víli began his braid.

“I pledge to you that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,” he said. “And they eyes into which I smile in the morning. I pledge to you the first bite of my meat, and the first drink from my cup. I pledge to you my living and dying, equally in your care, and tell no strangers our grievances. This is my wedding vow to you: this is a marriage of equals.”

With that, Thorin gave the final blessing and the wedding feast began…

~2942, Outside the Shire~

There was a tug on Thorin’s ear and he turned to Bilbo. “Sorry,” he said. “You were lost in thought and seemed not to hear me. I was beginning to worry you’d turn to stone.”

“I see,” Thorin said. He kissed Bilbo’s hand. “I was remembering something from a long time ago.”

“Does it have to do with these grave markers?” He asked. They were written in Khuzdul. Bilbo couldn’t read them. Thorin set down a wreath.

“My brother and sister are laid to rest here. Fili’s and Kili’s parents.”

“Oh. Red fever, wasn’t it?”

“My sister caught it after her husband was murdered,” he said.

Bilbo was silent for a beat or two. “Did you catch who killed him?”

“No. His uncles did. I never understood why. They didn’t exactly treat him kindly, so I still, to this day, don’t really…they wouldn’t tell us. Said it was taken care of and they wouldn’t…”

“Sometimes we don’t know what goes through our parents’ minds,” Bilbo said. “My father was always harsh, but that doesn’t necessarily mean we aren’t loved. Even if we don’t feel it.”

Thorin hummed and Bilbo looped his arm around Thorin’s.

“You know: they’d be proud their boys.”

Thorin grinned. “They would be,” he agreed.

The End

* * *

 

~Khuzdul~

Amrâlimê=my love

Mudtel=sweetheart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding vows are traditional celtic wedding vows, courtesy of merlins-total-turnip-head and shrineart on Tumblr. Striving-artist also added a Khuzdul translation of the vows.  
> I have to say, if I ever find someone I love/tolerate enough to marry, THESE will be my wedding vows. 
> 
> I apologize for how short this one was...I really thought I'd be able to keep it going at least a couple more weeks...Oh well.


End file.
